


Looking into your eyes

by thelastfig



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 17:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelastfig/pseuds/thelastfig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Thorin's last request is for someone to watch over Bilbo in his stead, and Bofur learns what it is like to love someone who is still in love with a ghost. Canon divergence after the BoFA as Bilbo stays in Erebor trapped in the memories of the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking into your eyes

Happiness is not something quantifiable. Dwarves tend to think in absolutes; hot or cold, soft or hard, with us or against us. There are neutrals and there are things which fall outside of the realm of absolutes. Happiness is one of those things that Bofur has come to learn. Until recently, he always thought someone was happy or they weren't and there wasn't anything else to it. 

Bilbo sits in the window sill painstakingly carved out of the mountain; this is the only window in Erebor and it was all the hobbit asked for. It's barely larger than Bofur's hands put together, barred with gilded iron and unable to let anyone in or out. It doesn't open; it simply offers a small glimpse into the world outside of the mountain. From his perch, Bilbo sits for hours and watches the world pass him by unnoticed, a dormant seed planted too far from the sun's reach. Sometimes he reads and at times he scratches words Bofur can't decipher into one of his myriad journals, but most of the time he looks out the window. It is in this small space where Bofur learns happiness can be sadness, and love can be more painful than hate.

*

Sometimes at night Bilbo curls up against him and allows Bofur to run a gentle hand through his curls. The soft locks are just beginning to shoot through with a premature gray, and Bofur places reassuring kisses on his face as if to will them away. These are the nights Bilbo smiles brightly at him as if Bofur is his savior, and Bofur finds it hard to breathe thinking that now, perhaps after all these years, Bilbo will regain his former spirited demeanor. But then the nights come where Bilbo flinches if touched, when he cries out for the dead loud enough to wake himself and returns to haunting the window. 

"I would not be here if it weren't for you," Bilbo whispers when he thinks Bofur is asleep, lacing their fingers together. 

The words are so soft Bofur can never tell if they are thankful or accusatory. His heart hurts as a dark voice in the back of his mind tells him Bilbo is rarely all there these days.

*

Bilbo is never left alone when wandering through the rebuilding city like an out of place dandelion seed left to the mercy of the wind. There are too many places to become lost or fall to an untimely death; Dain forbids this unassuming, great hero of Erebor to walk unprotected. Bilbo rarely notices he is followed, drifting throughout the city like a silent apparition. More often than not Nori is the one watching him, staying far enough away for Bilbo to have his space but close enough to step in if the need ever arises. 

It is unusual for Bilbo to leave his room and window more than once or twice a week and when he does, there are only two places he visits. The library of Erebor is partially charred, but Bilbo often spends hours reading through the pages of what remains. When Dain notices, mostly through Nori's intervention, he has the rooms cleaned and a few soft chairs placed for Bilbo's use. Nori likes these days the best as Bilbo is often joined by Balin and Ori, allowing Nori to steal away for a while. By the time he returns, Bilbo is often asleep with a cold and barely touched cup of tea next to him. Ori's fingers, perpetually stained black with ink, carefully pack up the books Bilbo is reading through for Nori to carry as he guides the barely awake hobbit back to his rooms. Bilbo always smiles gratefully at Nori and pats his hand; it's the smile he wears when he doesn't have the weight of the past bearing down upon him. 

On the bad days Bilbo wanders into the crypt. Nori doesn't enter out of respect for their burglar, but sometimes words float through the quiet of the deep mountain and land softly in his ears and painfully on his heart. Most of the time it is silence, and the silence is more deafening than any sobbed sentence of regret. As in the library, Nori will find Bilbo asleep, on the floor next to the tomb of the king who took something more precious than a cursed stone to his grave. He doesn't bother waking Bilbo up, choosing instead to carry him back to his room rather than face the haunted eyes of someone who wears scars on their soul deeper and more apparent than any physical malady. 

*

There's a ring Bilbo keeps in his pocket close to him at all times. It takes a few years for Bofur to notice its existence, but he wonders at its significance every time he sees Bilbo reach for it. He's never seen the hobbit put it on, only turn it over in his fingers or brush a hand across his pocket to see if it's there. The band itself is plain, no stone or engraving set upon the gold; it's much like Bilbo in which it is small and unassuming but holds an importance to the one it belongs to. 

Bofur ponders how long Bilbo has had the ring. Perhaps it is a trinket picked up along the course of their travels or maybe a family heirloom. On the worst days when Bilbo doesn't leave the window and his words are few, Bofur sees him reach for the ring more than usual and contemplates if Thorin gave it to him. Bofur reasons the ring being a gift from Thorin makes more sense than anything else; why else would Bilbo refuse to wear something he keeps on himself at all times? 

The ring Bofur crafted for Bilbo, a hobbit custom he is told, is adorned with a small piece of amber the same color of Bilbo's eyes. It sits on Bilbo's finger forgotten, lifeless as the metal it is composed of. A matching bead is braided into Bilbo's hair along with a bead naming him as an exalted warrior; it is a high honor for a dwarf to be given such a bead much less one outside their race. Bofur wishes Bilbo looked upon them as he does his golden ring. In his heart of hearts, Bofur hopes Mahal hears his prayers that someday Bilbo will be free of whatever hold the ring has on him and he will regain the spirit Bofur misses.

*

When he is in Dale or outside of the mountain, Bofur makes sure he returns with as many flowers as he can find. Nothing makes Bilbo smile more than flowers, and Bofur is content to watch his hobbit arrange them in vases or weave them into crowns. When it's warm enough he leads Bilbo outside for a few hours for them to lay in the sun. Bilbo never denies Bofur when he asks to braid flowers into his hair, and Bofur works with swift and adept fingers as he places braids and flowers that ask for forgiveness into Bilbo's hair. Bilbo never asks what the braids mean, only thanking Bofur with a soft kiss.

On the rare day he can leave the mines or whatever else needs to be seen to for the rebuilding of Erebor, Bofur arranges for his brother and cousin to join them outside. Bilbo is at his most relaxed when one of Bombur's children is crawling over him or asking for a story. His eyes clear and the innocence of their smiles and questions make him forget the pains he has known. Bifur gestures in his strange grunts and ancient Khuzdul words Bilbo has begun to understand, making Bilbo laugh in ways Bofur wish he knew how to replicate. At the end of the day, Bilbo sleeps with a gentle curl to his lips as he lies buried in Bofur's chest. 

Bofur would carve his own heart out of his chest and offer it still beating to Bilbo if it meant everyday could be like this.

*

Bilbo tries not to fall asleep before Bofur does. He likes to lay next to him and watch his chest rise and fall, to know he is alive and not stumbling towards death's doors. Sometimes he whispers secrets he wishes he was brave enough to say to him while he was awake, but he is scared to let anything in his mind be known less the encroaching darkness in it spread to others.

When he does fall asleep first he only has one dream.

_Thorin is looking up at the sky. The sky is blue around him, stretching for miles without a cloud marring it. The sun paints itself across untouched skin, a breeze lifting a few wavy strands of hair up into the air. His expression is untroubled, as if the weight of the tasks before him do not exist in this moment, and when he turns to look at Bilbo there is a grin on his face. Thorin holds a hand out, speaks words Bilbo cannot hear, and Bilbo stumbles toward him, almost there as everything begins to crumble and the scene changes._

_The world is black and white around him, the faces and bodies of those surrounding him are blurry and he knows them only by voice. There is a hand clutched tightly within his, fingers sticky with blood and whatever else war has thrown upon them. A voice normally deep and commanding has been reduced to nothing more than pain-filled murmurs. Bilbo barely understands what Thorin is saying as the roar of grief and bitterness consume the world around him. He is aware of Bofur stepping forward and speaking quietly with Thorin before the hand within his lets go, brushing gently over his cheek, before blue eyes close forever._

Bilbo wakes in tears feeling the void of emptiness that threatens to devour him, leaving him as nothing more than an empty shell. In the back of his mind voices paint him with self-doubt. 

"I'm sorry you are burdened with me," Bilbo will whisper to Bofur's sleeping form before leaving their bed and returning to his window.

He doesn't see the frown on Bofur's lips or the hurt in his eyes as Bilbo walks away from him. 

*

As years roll into a decade and a decade becomes decades, Bofur wonders if Bilbo will spend the rest of his life in love with a ghost. His heart thuds painfully against in chest, as if grasping an unpolished stone and beating against him until he is raw. They speak of sending Bilbo back to the Shire, back to his people, but Bofur will not see this done. Bilbo is too changed, too disturbed to face becoming a pariah among his kind. Wandering the halls of Erebor with its ghosts and memories isn't much better, but here Bilbo will never want for anything except that which was taken from him.

Every morning before he leaves, he presses a kiss onto Bilbo's temple. Most of the time Bilbo sleeps through it, but occasionally he wakes up and smiles at Bofur and murmurs his name before falling back into the clutches of sleep. Once in awhile a dead King's name falls from Bilbo's lips, and Bofur must accept he was never the first choice. Those are the days Bilbo is nothing more than a revenant masquerading in a living body.

Bofur comes to comprehend, as the decades roll on and on, that he too is doomed to spend the rest of his life in love with a ghost.

* 

Balin sits on the parapet overlooking the entrance to the city under the mountain. He puffs absentmindedly on his pipe as he watches those entering and exiting the city. The great exodus from the dragon scattered their people and even now, forty odd years after the mountain was reclaimed, they still trickle back. Occasionally he sees a face he remembers from before Smaug, someone he thought was lost to him forever, their faces weathered by time and memory. Some will never return, dead in their years of banishment or too rooted in their temporary turned permanent homes. 

It's an odd thing to finally be home and yet feel the calling of the road. Balin's eyes turn west to where he knows the Misty Mountains lay just out of sight and follow their imaginary peaks south. Azanulbizar was just the beginning, the awakening of something reaching out to him. The idea still tickles the back of his mind and in his heart, Balin knows Erebor was only part of what called to him. 

"It's not easy," Balin is too old to startle easily as Bofur joins him in watching the comings and goings. "I thought it would feel like home." 

His smile is easy, but Balin knows it masks something else entirely. From his pocket Bofur pulls a block of wood and a knife; Balin watches with interest as the toymaker brings the wood to life, carving it into a delicate flower. Bofur is patient and gives his task his undivided attention. He pulls block after block from his pockets, carves them all into different and unique flowers, and forms them into a bouquet. A few brushes and paints appear from a satchel, and soon each bloom resembles its real life counterpart; something fragile and fleeting given enduring life.

"He's always sad when his flowers wilt," Bofur says when he finishes the last one and lays it to dry, pulling out his pipe and leaning back against the cold stone. 

They sit together in silence until the sun kisses the horizon. Balin feels the weight of the past as well as the uncertainty of the future push down on him all at once. Bofur offers him a smile as twilight emerges, and it almost becomes too dark to sit outside. Slowly he begins to gather his dried flowers. 

"Bofur," Balin stands with him and places their foreheads together as kin would do in greeting or parting. "You have the strongest heart of all of us."

And that is when Balin sees the sadness and heartbreak in Bofur's smile for what it is.

*

It is rare for Bilbo to stray from his pattern of staring out the window, leaving only to visit the tombs or library, but on occasion he is known to visit the kitchens to keep Bombur company and bake for Bofur. Bombur is quiet-- a dwarf of few words and the ones he choses to say always have meaning. He finds it hard to speak to Bilbo about anything outside of his children and cooking as the things he wants to say would hurt the already fragile hobbit.

There was no ceremony, there was no reception; Bilbo and Bofur were married by Dain in a private room with only the company present to bear witness to the last request of Thorin Oakenshield. Marriage is not so rare as to be uncommon among dwarves, but there are few who marry those who are not their one or for better political footing. This is a marriage of convenience in which neither groom derives any benefit; Bombur's heart hurts for his brother and friend. Bombur knows, from the way the look in Bofur's eyes soften and the slight change in his voice and gestures when speaking about Bilbo, his brother does more than his share of acting to keep a happy face presented to the world.

Bombur watches as Bilbo slowly cuts up a few pumpkins and boils them in sugar water over the fire. It's late for pumpkins to still be around and Bombur thinks Bilbo must have hidden them away somewhere. It cheers him slightly, to know Bilbo is capable of giving his brother this small amount of kindness, even if it is only muffins. 

"My mother used to make these for my father," Bilbo says out of the blue as he scoops batter into the baking tin. "She taught me how to make them just right, so I could make them for someone I cared about."

He offers no more words and they finished cooking and baking in companionable silence. Bombur lightly taps their foreheads together before Bilbo leaves that evening; it's been years since he felt this flicker of hope.

*

Cave in's happen despite every precaution taken. Bofur feels the rumbling and shouts for others to run. It's not the tunnel he is in that collapses, but another one further down. No one is killed, but there are injuries which should have never happened if every tunnel was properly inspected. After making sure everyone in his section is accounted for and free from injury, Bofur goes to make his report to the chief foreman, who sends everyone home for the day. 

News travels fast and by the time word of the cave in hits the markets, facts have been twisted. Bofur reassures others a dozen miners did not die and that most of Erebor's tunnels are in excellent condition. By the time he reaches his home, travel taking twice as long with all those stopping to speak with him, he finds Bilbo pacing in the front room, shoulders tight and face laced with anxiety. When Bofur walks through the door Bilbo stops moving and just stares at him. For a minute all he does is look at Bofur, biting his lower lip as his eyes threaten to spill tears. Then he is racing across the room and clutching Bofur to him tighter than Bofur can remember. The cold metal of their bonding bead presses against Bofur's jaw, the amber catching the light of the fire and blinding him for a moment. 

"I thought..." the rest of Bilbo's words are lost against Bofur's chest and for a while they stand in embrace as if nothing exists outside of them. When Bilbo does relax his grip, he looks up at Bofur with troubled eyes threatening of tears and murmurs, "I thought I was going to be alone again."

Bofur pulls Bilbo close, his heart burning with an ache that seems to stretch forever. Taking Bilbo's smaller hand into his own he intertwines their fingers, the metal of their rings clinks softly together. Pressing a kiss against Bilbo's temple and into his soft curls, Bofur thinks the only way he'll ever leave Bilbo is if he asks.

*

There are times Bilbo hears voices swirling in the back of his mind. At first he dismisses them as sounds carried down the stone halls, but over time the voices become a singular voice sharp in his mind. Even if it does not speak, Bilbo knows the voice is always there lingering, biding its time. It is unsettling, but by the time Bilbo is functional after years of grieving for those he lost, the voice has become a part of him he never knew he was missing. 

When Bofur smiles at Bilbo or takes him into his arms, the voice tells him that like everyone he has loved, Bofur will see death before Bilbo and Bilbo will be alone again. There are nights Bilbo is too frightened to sleep, staying up to watch Bofur dream beside him. The voice tells him no one is safe with Bilbo around. Sometimes it urges him to leave Erebor for the wilds, to wander alone and let the darkness consume him, but what little strength he has left allows Bilbo to ignore these words; he fears for the day the voice wins. Bilbo retreats to the window in attempts to silence the negative words. And here in the window with naught more than the light of the moon, Bilbo knows the comfort silence brings.

*

After the cave-in Bofur stays away from the mines, running errands into Dale and the surrounding farms for his brother instead. The fresh air is a nice change, and the warmth of the sun on his skin makes him long for the road again. Bilbo surprises him one day, asking if he can accompany Bofur to one of the smaller farms to pick up herbs. Bofur can't remember the last time Bilbo has ventured this far from the mountain. If he thinks back hard enough, he sees betrayal written across the face of a King about to throw Bilbo off the side of the mountain and thinks that was the last time. There are memories Bofur chooses to forget. 

On any other day Bofur would have ridden a pony to the farms, but Bilbo has never been fond of riding and age has further cemented this opinion. He arranges for a small pony-pulled cart and together they spend the better part of the morning wandering to the green farm. Bofur goes to speak with the farmer and load the cart all the while Bilbo is content to sit in the field, plants full of life around him and a wistful, half-smile on his lips. He picks a few wildflowers, nothing more than weeds when growing in a crop field, and brushes the petals across his face, eyes closed as if trying to recall a distant memory. The sun adds a gold tint to his paled skin; the purple flowers are a stark contrast to a once honey colored complexion. Sometimes his eyes drift to the plains to the east of them or the never-ending forests of the Greenwood stretching as far as the eye can see. Bofur knows there is little keeping Bilbo in Erebor, and as the hobbit's eyes watch the world around them he wonders if Bilbo feels the calling of the road.

"You're staring at me," Bilbo tells him, parts bashful, blunt, and coy rolled into one. "Sit with me."

Bofur doesn't remember the sky being so blue or how crisp the clouds can look against it. The smell of the world around him seems foreign after years in Erebor. He doesn't easily recall the feeling of soft earth under his body, but the memories slowly begin to trickle into his mind. The smell of campfire, learning how to sleep in the open with the sounds of things unknown moving around him, never knowing exactly where he was but feeling safe due to those around him. As he steals another glance at Bilbo, he remembers a timid gentlehobbit unused to the conditions of the road, but with fire and tenacity which did not let him quit. That fire is nothing more than a few embers now if it still has life at all.

"Do you miss Ered Luin?" Bilbo asks him as he weaves together the flowers Bofur passes him.

"Are you asking me if I miss my home?" Bilbo thinks about it before nodding. "I suppose I miss the memories, but no, I do not miss the town I am from. I have my family here and they are more home than anything." Bofur watches as Bilbo turns his face up to the sun. "Do you miss the Shire?"

"I don't know," Bofur isn't sure if Bilbo is speaking to him or the wind. "I've spent more time here now."

He trails off and silence floats between them. Bofur takes his flute out of his bag, and even though Bilbo's eyes are closed, a smile turns the corners of his lips up as Bofur begins to play. His song is sweet, the promise of a blooming flower; Bilbo is a hobbit, a flower born in the sun but now kept deep under the mountain. The song takes on a sad note as the future looms uncertain before them. With flower crowns in their hair, they wander back to the rocks of home. In the sunlight the darkness begins to dissipate. 

*

Bilbo's visits to the crypts begin to slow. Once a week visits become every other week and soon become a monthly visit. Nori still stands guard outside of the entrance, giving Bilbo his privacy and stopping anyone else from entering. 

There comes a day when only silence comes from the room instead of sobs or barely discernible words. After an hour or so, Nori peeks his head in the room and finds Bilbo asleep, leaning against the dark, stone casket which holds Thorin's body. With a sigh, he silently pads across the room, but before he reaches Bilbo, the sleeping hobbit shifts and a ring he was holding in his hand falls from it and rolls to a stop before Nori. Frowning, Nori reaches down to pick up the ring.

Something passes over him, whispers of something grand, of riches and power outside of Erebor. The torches lighting the tomb flicker as darkness begins to encroach. Nori has seen many faces of evil over his life, but never has he seen this. The whispering voice promises Nori he can be great, that together they can keep his family safe and powerful; it speaks of thrones, crowns, and absolute power. Nori has use for none of it.

Slipping the ring back into Bilbo's pocket, he picks the sleeping hobbit up and begins the trek back to his rooms. Some shadows linger longer than others; Nori hopes Bilbo can find a light to cast his away.

*

Darkness begins its slow descent back into the lands around the Lonely Mountain. It's been fifty years since the mountain was reclaimed, and orcs and other foul creatures have been seen skirting the borders. The border guards say they head south toward Mordor and other lands unknown. At first it's a few small groups every few months, but as the years drag on larger packs of dark creatures move through their lands. Some slink many miles around the forests and the Mountain, but some are courageous and foolish enough to cut straight through. The tentative alliance between the elves, dwarves, and men of the region slays any enemy they find, but worried rumblings echo throughout the halls of all three races. 

Like the mountains, power and strength take many years to build. Bofur feels deep in his bones the mountain has not seen its last battle in his lifetime. At his core, Bofur is not a warrior and has seen enough bloodshed to last many lifetimes. When Erebor was nothing more than a fool's dream, he had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Now with the wisdom war has imparted on him, he thinks of those laid in stone before their time. As he stands on the parapet and looks to the south, he thinks of amber curls and a gentle smile, of a promise to a dying king. Bofur will not lose what he has promised to protect, what his heart holds closer than anything else.

When he returns to their rooms, he finds Gandalf deep in conversation with Bilbo, who has a deep frown etched onto his face, hand hovering over the pocket Bofur knows holds the ring. Bofur is not sure if he is intruding as both stop talking when he enters the room, but he musters up a smile for the wizard and kisses Bilbo on the forehead. 

"It's been a long while since you've wandered our way," Bofur says by way of greeting.

"I felt as if I was needed here," the gray wizard replies, his voice deep with smoke and eyes guarded as if keeping some secret. "I must speak with Dain, but I shall return."

The wizard is gone in a swirl of pipe-weed and robes before Bilbo or Bofur can blink. Bofur lets out a sigh he didn't realize he was holding and turns to Bilbo. The grim look is still on Bilbo's face and taking Bilbo by the elbow, he guides him to his window sill and waits for him to sit. Dragging a chair next to him, Bofur takes Bilbo's hands within his own and waits for him to speak.

"My cousins have passed and left their son behind," Bilbo says after a while, voice tight. "I... I have sat here too long and I..." 

He trails off and looks down at their hands, unable to finish speaking. Bofur rubs his thumb over the underside of Bilbo's wrist. The index finger of his other hand idly caresses the metal of Bilbo's bonding ring, and when Bilbo looks back up at him Bofur sees eyes threatening to spill with tears. 

"When do we leave?" Bofur frees one of his hands and gently cups the side of his face. "It won't take more than three or four turns of the moon to reach the Shire on foot." A wry smile floats across his face. "Unless you've changed your mind about ponies."

Bilbo laughs bitterly as the tears fall down his face and Bofur wipes them away with a soft hand and a softer kiss. He moves into the window seat and pulls Bilbo partially into his lap, wrapping his arms and burly frame around the small hobbit. Bilbo collapses against him as if all of the bones have been removed from his body, resting his head in the crook of Bofur's neck and shoulder.

"I cannot ask you to leave your home," Bilbo mutters a great deal later and Bofur shakes his head.

Carding his hand through Bilbo's hair, his fingers brush over the amber bead and rest there. "My home is with you Bilbo, wherever we choose to make it." 

"Your family-"

"Will understand." Bofur kisses Bilbo's curls. 

The cloth of his shirt is soon wet with Bilbo's silent tears; Bofur says no more and holds Bilbo close as he cries. When he falls into sleep's clutches, Bofur carries him to their bed and pulls Bilbo against him, afraid that if he lets go Bilbo won't be there when he wakes.

When the sun dawns, Bilbo is still asleep in his arms, a smile on his lips.

*

Bilbo changes his mind about the ponies. They visit the library for a map of the route they are to take, and the idea of spending more time than needed in Mirkwood is enough to convince Bilbo. It takes them little time to pack their belongings to take on the road, and the rest will be sent in the next trade caravan on its way to Ered Luin. They don't travel alone; Balin, Dwalin, Bifur, and Nori accompany them as a guard as the roads are not as safe as they once were. 

Bofur finds it surprisingly easy to say goodbye to Erebor. It is more difficult to say farewell to his friends than it is to the mountain he has given so much for. Bombur sheds many tears, but they both know life has many paths to take and sooner or later theirs would diverge. His nieces and nephews pounce on him, burying him in hugs and demands for visits to which he happily agrees to. They beg him to stay, but in his heart Bofur knows Erebor was nothing more than a dream for him and now complete, he strives for a new dream. Bofur has sweat, bled, and dedicated his life to Erebor, but at the end of the day there are things dearer to his heart. 

Outside of the shadow of the mountain Bilbo seems to slowly come to life. Like a seedling, he grows at quiet pace, pressing away the darkness of life underground and reaching toward the warmth of the sun. Bofur feels cruel when he sees how happy and alive Bilbo becomes after many days in the sun, a pale and dormant seed now sprouting and regaining its color. 

"I have been cruel to you keeping you this long in the mountain," Bofur tells him one night as Bilbo sleeps in his arms, curled up tightly against him. "I do not ask your forgiveness because I do not think I deserve it."

They pass through the gloom of Mirkwood in days as opposed to weeks this time with elven guides who cheerfully speak with Bilbo as they cross the woods. They are delighted in Bilbo's study of their language, and Bofur finds himself wishing he understood what they were conversing about. A small twinkle begins to work itself back into Bilbo's eyes as if one of the stars Bofur wishes on has fallen from the sky and landed in Bilbo's eyes. 

Beorn's house is how they remember it, filled with alarmingly knowledgeable and inquisitive animals and a bear of a man. They accept his invitation to rest for a few days before their long trek through the mountains. As is his duty and right as mate, Bofur helps Bilbo unbraid his hair, removes his beads, and combs the tangles out before Bilbo bathes. Bofur never asks for Bilbo to return the favor; his twin braids keeps the tangles out and he keeps his moustache and beard short enough to where they require minimal attention. He waits until he hears Bilbo leave the baths before he enters, wanting to give Bilbo some modicum of privacy. When he is finished, he returns to their room and helps Bilbo return the beads and braids into his hair. 

Bofur is done with one of his own braids and has begun to comb his remaining hair out when a tentative hand stills his and he finds Bilbo looking up at him. They don't speak as Bilbo takes the comb from him and begins to plait Bofur's hair. He slips the bead that matches his own into Bofur's hair and ties it off with a clean piece of cloth. Bofur runs his fingers over the braid-- lumpy, lopsided, and far from perfect-- and feels his heart beating harder than usual against his chest. He capture's Bilbo's hands in his and places a kiss on Bilbo's knuckles.

*

This time there are no goblins, stone giants, and other unsavories chasing them through the mountains. The further from Erebor they go, the more Bilbo blooms. The sun darkens his skin, the wind whips red into his cheeks, and his curls seem to take on that spark of life missing from before. He speaks for long periods of time with Balin over dwarven history, laughs with Nori as the thief sees how many items he can throw into Dwalin's hood before the larger dwarf notices, and asks Gandalf about the comings and goings of the world since they last spoke. If there is a time when he is not holding the reins, Bilbo's fingers and hands make the signs of Iglishmek and his silent conversations with Bifur are only vocalized with grunts and the occasional laugh. When they stop to eat, Bilbo always returns to Bofur's side, sitting closer than usual. In the two months since they've left Erebor, the fog around Bilbo has turned to nothing but an occasional shadow.

As Bilbo smiles at him, Bofur sees the biggest change. No longer must he work for the barest flicker of a smile-- now they come freely. 

*

The small company lingers in Rivendell too long for the liking of any of the dwarves, but Bilbo's plea backed by the wizard quiets any protest. The dwarves stick together as Bilbo disappears for long conversations with Elrond as Gandalf comes and goes as he pleases. Balin retreats to the library, Dwalin to observe weapons training, and Nori... well no one is ever sure where Nori disappears off to. Bofur contents himself to speaking with his cousin, wandering the gardens, following the river, or listening to the elves playing their instruments. He wishes for his clarinet, but it's been packed away and will be sent along with their larger items. Instead he has his small flute, and he plays a few of the lighter songs he knows, melodies that do not echo of rocks and shadows. 

Not more than a few days go by before he is joined in the garden after lunch by a golden-haired elf who wishes to learn the songs Bofur plays and perhaps teach him a few elven songs. Bofur complies and when the elf asks what type of songs Bofur would like to learn, he pauses to think.

"Something simple," Bofur asks of him, "a song about flowers in the spring?"

The elf smiles and soon they are playing a tune which speaks of sunshine and the coming of plants. When the elf leaves him, he remains in the garden playing quietly in the dying light of the sun. When the sun kisses the horizon it imparts a golden glow to the valley and drags Bofur back decades and pulls at his heart. His songs slow, impart an almost wistful feel, before he stops playing altogether. 

Footsteps and the sound of cloth dragging over marble come from behind him, and he is joined by Gandalf. A wave of pipe-weed smoke drifts over him, and he pulls out his own pipe to join. 

"I have done you a great disservice," Gandalf tells him as the golden light fades to a dark pink and then to purple. "I did not see the darkness lingering in Bilbo, and you have been forced to bear it with him all these years." 

"Nothing I didn't volunteer for or wouldn't do again," Bofur's words are mumbled due to the mouthpiece of the pipe. "Stubbornness of dwarves and all that."

"Yes," Gandalf's lips slightly twitch, "I suppose you would." The wizard taps his pipe out and returns it to the folds of his cloak. "There is something I would ask of you, yet another burden for you to bear." Bofur raises and eyebrow, but nods in spite of himself. "There is something Bilbo carries, something he found long ago in the Goblin caves, a golden ring. Do you know of what I speak?" Bofur nods. "I fear Bilbo is free of the shadow of the mountain, but there is something unnatural surrounding him, something evil, something which must be kept secret and safe." In Gandalf's voice Bofur hears the stretch of ages the wizard has walked Middle Earth, and worry rears its head.

"What if I am not strong enough?"

Gandalf's smile is half sad and half proud, and he clasps a hand on Bofur's shoulder. "Evil cannot destroy love or hope and in these you are stronger than anyone I know." 

Even after Gandalf leaves, Bofur remains seated in the garden. He wanders the paths of his mind and loses himself in the fog of his thoughts. Dwarves know rock and stone, the permanence of the world around them; he is standing on the ever shifting sand, its walkways and paths appearing and disappearing at the whimsy of the wind. 

*

When they leave Rivendell Bilbo is brighter than Bofur has seen him in the past many years and almost himself again. It is as if he is at the cusp of blooming, a flower still in the bud waiting for the right moment to reveal itself to the world. Bofur knows the others notice, but they don't say anything, choosing simply to nurture this growth through conversation and laughter. He finds himself falling to the back of their line so he can shed a few tears in privacy as he thinks of how their time together might have passed in a different nature. 

The landscape around them begins to shift from the golden grasses of plains to a more fertile and green environment. The Misty Mountains disappear behind them and Bofur feels exposed without them. Bree is another day or two to the west and after that the Shire and Hobbiton are not more than two days on ponyback. Bofur has worries about their future in the Shire: what if Bilbo begins to wilt away again, what if the villagers treat him poorly and even more so due to Bofur's presence, what will it be like raising a hobbit child? His head spins as the looming days fill him with uncertainty, a shadow which grows like a vine. A voice speaks to him in the back of his mind telling him he does not belong, but he pushes it aside. 

In Bree they stay the night at an inn, and next to him Bilbo tosses and turns until Bofur wraps an arm around him. Bilbo turns to look at him, hair like spun gold and mithril in the light of the moon as it fans out on the pillow. The voice returns, telling him Bilbo is weak, and in this voice Bofur understands the evil Gandalf spoke of. 

"I'm scared," Bilbo murmurs as he tucks his face against Bofur's shoulder.

"Me too," Bofur replies and Bilbo looks back up at him. "But you give me strength."

He presses his lips against Bilbo's temple before resting their foreheads together. It's not more than a few minutes before they drift off to sleep. 

*

"Amber isn't mined in Erebor," Bilbo says as he adjusts the ring Bofur made for him the next day as they near the border of the Shire.

To the left the distant trees of the Old Forest remind him of Mirkwood, like they are watching him and waiting for something. He sees the end of the treeline up ahead a few miles as well as a sparkling ribbon of a river cutting through the land. Bilbo is riding next to him, their hands brushing every once in awhile.

"No, it is not." Bofur smiles and nods his head. "There are remnants of an ancient forest between Erebor and the Iron Hills."

"Forest?"

"Amber doesn't form like most stones," Bofur explains. "It is the remains of tree resin after thousands of years. It is only found where ancient trees once stood."

"Why did you pick it? Why not another stone?"

"Oh," Bofur colors slightly and gives Bilbo a sheepish grin, "because it is a stone born of a tree, something living taken into the earth and transformed." And to himself Bofur thinks, 'and when it emerges there is nothing more beautiful.'

"Bilbo," Gandalf calls to the hobbit from the front of their column and Bilbo brushes his fingers against Bofur's before urging his pony forward to join the wizard. 

Their ponies slow to a stop and when Bofur looks up from the matching ring on his finger, he sees why. The Shire sprawls in all its greenery and rolling hills in front of them. Bofur's eyes are not for the lush view, but rather for the hobbit at the front of their line. Bilbo's shoulders are down, his posture relaxed, as if a great weight has been taken off of them. For a minute all Bilbo does is stare, hand moving to wipe at what Bofur knows are tears. When Bilbo turns around, his eyes seeks out Bofur's; a grin is on his face with no trace of a shadow, a flower in full bloom in the noon sun.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to albion_lass and tempered_rose for beta'ing even though it's outside of your fandoms. 
> 
> This is my first story for this fandom. I'm not normally one to ask for comments or reviews (though they are nice), but I'd like to know how I did and whether or not this was liked. I am considering adding a second piece to it to detail life in the Shire, but want to know if there is interest in it. Feedback is always appreciated <3


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